Separation Protocol

Chapter 3 – Separation Protocol

The escape room place looked nothing like the screenshots.

Online, it had seemed bright–neon signage, dramatic posters, the kind of polished front desk that promised professionalism. In reality, the building was tucked between two quiet storefronts like it was trying not to draw attention. The sign above the door was small. The hallway leading in was narrow.

And the moment Aleem stepped inside, the air changed.

It wasn’t temperature.

It was intention.

The lighting dimmed just slightly, as if the place believed that mystery began the moment you crossed the threshold.

Crystal bounced on her heels. “Oh my God. This is exactly the vibe.”

Isabelle tilted her head, eyes scanning the posters. “This one looks terrifying.”

Ivan read the same poster without expression. “It says ‘psychological horror.’”

Crystal pointed at Aleem. “He’ll lead. As usual.”

Aleem didn’t deny it.

It had become an unspoken law in ABIX: when the room was dark and something in the walls whispered, Aleem went first. Not because he was fearless, exactly. But because fear never got to his legs before his logic did.

He looked at Mina.

She stood just behind her friends, hands tucked into her coat pockets. Her hood was down now. Under the warm indoor light, her face looked even more… normal. Not in a diminishing way–just in the way that made Aleem feel like the world had been lying when it told him she was untouchable.

She was simply a girl.

A girl who used to stand on stadium stages, yes. But right now she was glancing at the posters with the same mild apprehension as everyone else.

Her eyes met his.

Aleem’s internal brain attempted a small panic.

He pressed it down and turned away like a functional adult.

The staff at the counter greeted them in cheerful Korean and switched to English the moment they realized half their group wasn’t local. Mina’s Korean was fluid when she responded–easy, natural–like she’d lived inside the language long enough for it to become a second skin.

Aleem listened without making it obvious.

He felt something stupidly proud again.

Not fan pride.

Just… human pride. As if he’d watched someone learn how to swim from afar and now, by coincidence, was seeing them cut through water with grace.

They chose a horror-themed room–because of course they did.

Mina’s friends were excited in the way people got when they wanted to scream and blame it on the room.

ABIX was excited in the way they always were: competitive, stupidly brave in packs, and fully prepared to push Aleem into danger and then call it love.

“Rules,” Crystal announced again, like she was addicted to the word. “No leaving the room. No crying. No sacrificing me.”

“Sacrificing you is the only way we survive,” Aleem said flatly.

Crystal gasped. “Betrayal.”

Isabelle laughed softly. Mina’s friends laughed too, even though the joke probably didn’t translate perfectly. Somehow it didn’t need to.

Mina smiled, eyes bright.

Aleem looked away again.

Focus. Escape room. Not… her.

The staff member explained the story: a haunted annex, missing people, a cursed object, the kind of narrative that promised jump scares and fake blood and, if you were unlucky, hands coming out of the dark.

Crystal clapped. “Yes.”

Ivan’s voice was mild. “You seem too eager.”

“I’m eager to see you panic,” Crystal whispered.

“I do not panic.”

“Mm.” Crystal’s disbelief was a full sentence.

Aleem checked his watch out of habit, as if timing could anchor him. The staff handed them a small device for hints, then opened the heavy door.

“Good luck,” the staff member said.

The door shut.

And the world disappeared.

–

Inside, it was darker than Aleem expected.

The room smelled faintly of damp wood and old paper, the scent engineered to feel like abandonment. There was a desk in the corner with a flickering lamp. A wardrobe that looked too tall. A window with curtains that didn’t move.

And somewhere in the walls, a sound like breathing.

Crystal grabbed Isabelle’s sleeve immediately. “Okay. That’s already unnecessary.”

Isabelle patted her hand. “We’re fine.”

Ivan had already begun scanning for patterns–numbers, symbols, anything that made sense.

Aleem did what he always did:

He stepped forward.

Not because he wanted to.

Because somebody had to.

Mina’s friends clustered together, whispering in Japanese and Korean, laughing nervously. Mina hovered between them, eyes alert, posture controlled.

She wasn’t clinging to anyone.

She wasn’t trembling.

But Aleem noticed the smallest tell: the way her shoulders stayed slightly raised, like she was always prepared to move.

He recognized it.

Not fear.

Readiness.

They began solving the first set of puzzles–finding keys in drawers, aligning book spines, matching symbols hidden behind frames. Aleem fell into rhythm quickly. He could feel the room’s logic, the invisible lines of cause and effect.

He pointed. “That symbol matches the one on the safe.”

Ivan nodded once, already moving.

Crystal whispered to Mina’s friends, “We’re good at this.”

One of Mina’s friends, a Japanese girl with long hair, laughed. “He looks like he does this every weekend.”

Aleem heard it anyway.

He pretended he didn’t.

Then the lights flickered.

A soft laugh–high, childlike–echoed from somewhere behind the wardrobe.

Crystal squeaked.

Isabelle flinched, but held.

Ivan didn’t react.

Aleem did not react.

His body registered it, sure. The primitive part of him did a quick evaluation–threat?–and then his brain filed it away as a predictable scare trigger.

“Okay,” Aleem said calmly. “We ignore that.”

Mina exhaled a laugh, surprisingly light. “You’re… very calm.”

Aleem glanced at her. “It’s just a room.”

Mina’s eyes held his for a second.

Then, softly: “Yeah. Just a room.”

But her voice didn’t sound like she only meant the escape room.

Before Aleem could process that, the door on the opposite wall clicked open on its own.

A cold draft slipped in.

The staff’s voice came through a hidden speaker: “Proceed.”

They moved into the next space–narrower, darker, more oppressive. A corridor with peeling wallpaper and a single red exit light that made everyone’s skin look slightly wrong.

Crystal clutched Isabelle harder.

Isabelle whispered, “Breathe.”

Mina’s friends were giggling again. One of them nudged Mina.

Mina nudged back.

And Aleem noticed something else:

They kept nudging her toward him.

Toward the front.

Toward where he stood.

Of course.

Aleem decided to ignore it.

Then the room decided to make it impossible.

–

They reached a junction in the corridor where a wall of metal bars blocked the path.

In the center was a panel with two handprints illuminated faintly.

Above it, a sign in Korean and English:

TWO MUST ENTER. TWO MUST SEPARATE.

Crystal read it out loud, voice trembling with excitement and fear. “Two must enter. Two must separate.”

There was a second door on the left–small, marked with a warning symbol.

It looked like something you didn’t come back from.

The staff’s voice crackled again: “Two players must proceed into the annex. The others must remain. Communication is limited.”

Mina’s friends immediately turned their heads toward Mina.

ABIX immediately turned their heads toward Aleem.

Aleem felt it happen like a slow-motion car crash.

Crystal’s smile was feral. “Oh.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened, then softened in sympathy. “Crystal…”

Ivan’s gaze flicked between Aleem and Mina like he was watching pieces align into a board state.

Mina’s friends began whispering rapidly.

“ミナ、行って。”

“行って行って。”

Mina shook her head once, a tiny denial.

They shoved her forward anyway–gentle, playful, relentless.

Crystal matched them by nudging Aleem with both hands. “Go. Go. Go.”

Aleem hissed, “Stop pushing me like I’m a pawn.”

“You are a pawn,” Crystal whispered back. “In romance chess.”

Ivan murmured, “This is not chess.”

Crystal shot him a look. “It’s always chess.”

Mina’s laughter broke through the tension–soft, genuine.

Aleem’s heart did something stupid.

The handprint panel glowed insistently.

There was no escaping this.

Aleem stepped forward before anyone else could push him again.

“I’ll go,” he said.

Mina’s friends clapped quietly like they’d won.

Mina looked at him, brows lifting. “You… sure?”

Aleem kept his face neutral.

Inside, his brain was doing three things at once:

1. screaming,
2. trying to plan, and
3. reminding him not to be weird.

“Yes,” he said, voice steady. “It’s fine.”

Mina hesitated for half a beat.

Then she stepped beside him.

“I’ll go too,” she said.

And just like that, the room shifted.

Not because of the puzzle.

Because of proximity.

Because Aleem could smell faint shampoo on her hair, something clean and subtle. Because she stood close enough that if he moved his hand even slightly, it would brush her sleeve.

He did not move his hand.

He did not breathe too loudly.

He did not let Crystal win by watching him fall apart.

The panel beeped.

The metal bars slid aside with a groan.

The small annex door unlocked.

Mina’s friends waved. ABIX waved too, with varying levels of restraint.

Crystal leaned in and whispered, “Protect her.”

Aleem shot her a look. “It’s an escape room.”

Crystal’s smile turned soft for a fraction. “Still.”

Aleem’s throat tightened.

He nodded once.

Then he stepped into the annex with Mina.

The door shut behind them.

The sound was final.

–

The annex was colder.

The corridor narrowed into a cramped room lit by a single overhead bulb that flickered like it was deciding whether to die. The walls were stained. There was a child’s doll sitting on a chair.

Mina stared at the doll.

Aleem stared at the floor.

Because he refused to give the doll the satisfaction.

A speaker crackled.

“Two must retrieve the relic,” the staff’s voice said. “Solve the ritual.”

The lights dimmed.

The bulb flickered harder.

Mina’s voice was quiet. “This is… scary.”

Aleem glanced at her.

Her expression was controlled, but her eyes had sharpened. She wasn’t panicking.

But she was bracing.

Aleem nodded once. “We’ll solve it fast.”

Mina’s lips curved faintly. “You sound like you do this often.”

Aleem exhaled. “My friends… have a hobby.”

Mina let out a small laugh.

And in that laugh, Aleem heard something he didn’t expect:

Relief.

The room was designed to scare them.

But his presence was doing the opposite.

That realization struck him like a quiet responsibility.

He forced his focus onto the puzzle.

There was a locked box on the table. A set of symbols on the wall. A sequence of candles, unlit, arranged in a circle.

Aleem approached the wall first, studying the symbols.

Mina moved toward the table, scanning for clues.

They worked without stepping on each other’s toes.

It was oddly… easy.

Like their minds moved on parallel tracks.

Mina’s voice cut through the silence. “There’s a note.”

Aleem turned. “What does it say?”

She read it quickly, translating. “It’s like… a poem. About ‘light’ and ‘names.’”

Aleem nodded, brain already assembling it into a system.

“Light and names,” he murmured. “Candles. Symbols.”

Mina glanced at him. “You solve fast.”

“It’s just patterns.”

Mina’s eyes lingered. “You like patterns.”

Aleem felt something stir at the edge of his chest.

He ignored it.

He pointed at the candle circle. “We need to light them in order.”

Mina crouched slightly, examining the wax. “There’s numbers.”

Aleem leaned down too.

Their shoulders nearly touched.

His brain briefly forgot the puzzle.

Then a sound erupted behind them.

A sharp slam.

The doll’s head snapped upward on a hidden mechanism.

Mina screamed.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just a startled, human sound ripped out of her.

Aleem moved before thinking.

He stepped between her and the doll, one arm lifting instinctively as a barrier, like his body had decided the safest place for her was behind him.

His heartbeat spiked.

Not because of the doll.

Because Mina’s hand had grabbed his sleeve.

Tight.

Real.

For one second, she didn’t let go.

Aleem kept his voice calm.

“It’s okay,” he said, low. “It’s fake.”

Mina’s breathing was sharp. She laughed once, embarrassed. “I know.”

Her hand loosened.

She released him quickly, as if she’d realized what she’d done.

Aleem pretended he hadn’t felt it.

But his skin was awake where she’d held him.

He didn’t look back at her right away.

He looked at the doll instead.

And in his head, he said very calmly to the escape room:

Nice try.

Then he turned back to the puzzle.

“Okay,” he said again, steadying himself. “We continue.”

Mina exhaled, nodding. “Okay.”

Aleem pointed to the symbols. “These correspond to the candles. Look–same shapes.”

Mina leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Ah. Yes.”

She took the hint device from her pocket and then stopped. “We don’t need.”

Aleem’s lips lifted slightly. “No, we don’t.”

Together, they lit the candles in sequence using a small lighter hidden beneath the table. The room responded immediately–metal clicking, a compartment opening inside the wall.

Mina reached in and pulled out a small wooden relic.

The moment she touched it, the lights flickered violently.

A low moan echoed from the corridor.

Mina stiffened.

Aleem did not.

He moved forward again, positioning himself slightly ahead of her as they stepped toward the door.

The corridor outside was darker now.

There was a shape at the far end–tall, draped in black.

It didn’t move.

Mina’s breath caught.

Aleem’s brain calculated quickly:

Actor. Trigger point. Timer.

He raised his hand slightly, not touching Mina, but close enough that she’d know he was there.

“Stay behind me,” he said quietly.

Mina’s voice was a whisper. “You’re not scared?”

Aleem’s mouth curved, just a fraction.

“I’m scared of disappointing my friends,” he said.

Mina let out a shaky laugh.

And in that laugh, Aleem felt his own tension ease.

They stepped forward.

At the exact mark on the floor–hidden under a layer of grime–the actor lunged.

Mina squealed.

Aleem moved again–fast, decisive–shifting his body to block the leap, one arm lifting instinctively.

The actor stopped short, trained, professional.

Aleem didn’t flinch.

He just said, very calmly, “Hello.”

The actor hesitated, then–almost breaking character–let out a muffled laugh and stepped aside.

Mina stared at Aleem like he was insane.

“You said hello,” she whispered.

Aleem shrugged. “It’s polite.”

Mina’s laugh burst out, real this time.

And it filled the corridor like light.

They reached the exit door at the end and pressed the relic into a recessed slot.

The mechanism clicked.

The metal bars in the main corridor lifted.

Aleem opened the door and stepped through with Mina.

The moment they re-entered the larger space, ABIX and Mina’s friends turned toward them like they’d been waiting for a verdict.

Crystal’s eyes were wide. “DID YOU DIE?”

Mina’s friends crowded her immediately, chattering.

Mina responded in Japanese quickly, then glanced at Aleem.

Aleem said, “We solved it.”

Ivan looked at the relic. “Efficient.”

Isabelle’s smile was soft. “Good job.”

Crystal stared at Mina, then at Aleem, then at the air, like she was trying to contain an explosion.

“You protected her, right?” she stage-whispered.

Aleem shot her a look. “Crystal.”

Mina’s cheeks were faintly pink from the cold and the adrenaline.

She spoke up, gentle but clear. “He did.”

Aleem’s heart stumbled.

He looked at her.

Mina held his gaze for a second longer than necessary.

Then she smiled–small, private.

And Aleem realized, with the kind of quiet shock that didn’t need fireworks to be devastating:

He hadn’t just led her through a puzzle.

He’d led her through fear.

And somehow…

she had trusted him.

The staff’s voice crackled from the speaker again.

“Proceed,” it said.

But Aleem wasn’t thinking about the next room.

He was thinking about the way Mina had grabbed his sleeve.

The way her laugh had sounded when she realized he wasn’t going to let the world make her alone in the dark.

The way his body had moved to shield her before his brain could give permission.

And how, for the first time, the old fan part of him wasn’t the loudest thing inside.

Something else was.

Something quieter.

More dangerous.

More real.

They moved forward again as a group.

And Aleem, still at the front as always, didn’t notice until much later that Mina had chosen to walk just half a step behind him.

Not because she needed protection.

But because she wanted to be near him.